The Seal
by Brennon Sithech
Summary: D'Wolf the Mage sets out into the wilds of Albion in search for a great item hidden away by the Hobbes. Little does he know what lies in store for him.


D'Wolf grabbed the hobbe by its thick neck and cast it over the side of the deep ravine. He watched as the squat little fiend fell through the darkness and landed with a crunch at the bottom. He had been walking these caves for hours and all he had found was dirty Hobbes and their craft. The information from the Cow & Corset had been that if he delved deep enough he would find the hoard of Orkon, but he was beginning to doubt it. They had been a shady lot, the pirates and cutthroats sat around a small ramshackle table in the corner. Sometimes he thought that people took him for a fool, his one eye, his dirty clothes and his rusted weapons. But they were all a façade of his true power. He carried the cutlass for show, when in fact the weapon had hardly ever left its scabbard. He wondered sometimes if the weapon had just turned to dust in there by now. His clothes were also a cunning disguise, for with the clothes of a pauper on his back he was immune from the unwanted attention of thieves and vagabonds in the streets of Bowerstone. Now more than ever he needed the ability to hide. Logan had cracked down on his kind and it was not safe for anyone with the guards all posted in his royal home of Fairfax and most of the ones who were not, corrupt and working for the highest bidder.

D'Wolf had often thought of using his powers to rid the kingdom of Logan but he was too strong, his army too many. It would take a great effort, and indeed a great number of bodies to bring down the tyrant of Albion. Instead he was putting his talents to better uses. D'Wolf was a wizard, a mage, a witchman, a spell caster, a willmongrel, every name of which he had heard in his training and life on the road, but this was his talent. The patch that covered his left eye held a great blue jewel set into its socket, the glimmering stone of power which charged his magical abilities with greater energies. He had taken to covering his body as well, every inch of him wrapped in rags and clothing of assorted origin in order to hide the magical tattoos that coursed over his body. He did not need them as much now, he had been able to control the appearance of them and mask it with spells, but he still wore them just in case. It did not pay to have the Bowerstone guards find you were a mage, the next destination would of course be the prison cells of the city. So a wandering mage hand, with little skill that could be of use in an ordinary job he had taken to treasure seeking to pay his way. He had found the lost jewels of the Dread King, retrieved the Dollmaster Mace from its prison of ice, buried the legions of Nostro's lieutenant under the graveyards of Albion, and now he sort a material prize that he did not feel like sharing with anyone.

Orkon had been an odd hobbe who fancied himself a human, and had carried around a small cruel club to beat anyone who said different. D'Wolf had found out about the mysterious fellow when he had been exploring the ruins of the Heroes Guild that the previous King of Albion had uncovered. That was sealed now, locked up and hidden by magical seals and guards. He had taken the book and read it in detail, hearing of how Orkon had got fed up of being told he was just a hobbe and had taken his revenge on a nearby town. The people had been so surprised by his attack and the mass of Hobbes he had bought with him that they had all been defeated with ease. Orkon had then opened the vaults of the Lord's mansion and stolen all the gold from within it, including, and this was D'Wolf's real prize, a priceless set of armour said to have been worn by the Jack Slayer of old. He had moved around the towns and villages of Albion asking of the resting place of this treasure, but all had not known a word of it save the cutthroats at the Cow & Corset. And here he was, hundreds of metres under the earth in their warren like mines and surrounding on all sides by stinking hobbes.

D'Wolf pulled a ruddy map from his pocket and unfurled the edges, kneeling to the dirt and weighing it down with stones. With a touch of his finger a path illuminated on the map, little dashes and splodges of ink showing directions through the warren ways of the hobbes. It had been good fortune he had stumbled upon this but he was having trouble commanding the object. The map had been wedged into the skull of a human being mounted atop a cruel looking spike, and it had mocked him when he first read the script. The enchantments, while crude were different than human magic and had almost lost him his fingers, but he had wrestled with it eventually and learned its use. It had been made by the followers of Orkon it seemed to allow the forgetful King to find his treasure, and it had worked so far. But now the map kept changing direction and pointing him off of ledges into deep ravines, or into nests of sleeping hobbes which he had only just narrowly avoided. Now the arrow was pointing right where he had thrown the hobbe body a moment ago. Standing and growling D'Wolf leaned over the edge and with a click of his fingers summoned a ball of flame in his palm. He dropped it, the little flickering ball falling, bouncing off of the edges of the ravine until it hit the bottom, bursting with light for a moment and illuminating the scene. Down at the bottom the body lay, and a carpet of jagged rocks. It was certainly not this way.

Scowling he rolled up the map and threw caution to the wind. He was on a small path running around a large cliff face which was dotted with rudimentary torches and candles. Bones paved most of the way, and the bodies of hobbes the rest. He filtered the magical words in his mind, preparing himself for combat as he knew it would come to him if he stayed. With an agility that did not seem possible he crept around the cliff face, eventually ending up on a flat stone expanse of which faced him three entrances. Each of them was rimmed with bones and cruel artefacts, but one had atop it a small wooden club, nailed to a board with a thick nail. It did not taken a genius to understand that, with the hobbe King's failing memory he must have done this to remind him of his own dwelling. Lighting another orb of fire and letting his magical markings blaze through the clothing he cast an eerie glow down the passage way as he stalked within. He could hear the sound of scratching and barking, of ordering and the clank of armour and weapons. If he did not find the treasure, at least he could say he had not wasted his day's powers on the tricks of a charlatan for his money.

The passage opened out into a deep room, the edges cut into a winding path which led down a great bonfire at its centre. About it sat hobbes of every description. Some were runtish, badly armed and picking their teeth with absent mind. Larger red ones stood and watched over the fire, their armour rusty and bolted together. Nearest the fire was a fat hobbe, a top hat perched on his head and a large crystal stave in his hand. He looked to the jewel atop it all the time, snarling at any other hobbe who came near. Set into the wall behind the gaggle of hobbes as an iron door, a club crudely carved into its surface. It came to D'Wolf's mind that these hobbes had no idea of what actually constituted a 'hidden' treasure. This seemed an almost easy dispatch; he would fry a few of them and then focus his energies on the mage, killing him by summoning the mystical blades of the ether to stab into him.

He began chanting, summoning the spells from the confines of his mind and layering them on every one of the little runts. He could see the subtle effects of his spell starting to take hold, the words of power working their way into the small creature's minds. One stood up, picking a bone from the nearby table and proceeded to smack his companion in the face. The masks took hold and D'Wolf could see the ethereal images coat the hobbes faces as they all turned on each other. He was proud of his spellcraft, but this was just what he needed. The hobbes laid into each other with vicious blows, roaring and bellowing and the bigger runts crushing the little ones, throwing them onto the fire. The large red hobbes began to try and restore order but the mage of their motley crew realised what was happening. D'Wolf looked on as the fat hobbe turned his top hated head and glared up into the shadows. A burst of green erupted behind him and with an acrid smell of burning sulphur the bones on the floor began to reanimate themselves. Cursing, D'Wolf turned and waved his hands in a figure of eight, weaving an enchantment and as the bone hobbes rose from their uncovered graves three of them were blasted apart in a ring of fire. Two however advanced, the spell of the hobbe mage enough to stop the magic destroying them. D'Wolf ducked one swing of a crude bone axe, and dodged the buckshot of the second's rusted blunderbuss. He talked as he moved; whispering more words of power and ethereal blades summoned themselves at his side. He let the blades flash forwards, skewering the two deathly creatures, their bodies crumpling into dust. Behind him he realised the spell of confusion had worn off.

The hobbes charged up the hill, their weapons bared. Some of them bore cuts and bruises and at a glance only a few of them had fallen to the confusing blows of their friends. The runts led the charge followed by the lumbering red blobs. The mage strangely stood back, watching his minions advance. Only then did D'Wolf realise what was going on. The leader hobbe was strapped up with explosives but was in such a rage that even it did not notice the cord burning down into the red explosive. D'Wolf dived.

The explosion rocked the ledge, half of the hobbes being blow to pieces and the red ones still pushing forwards. D'Wolf fell from the ledge, his body landing hard on the ground below. His hero bones absorbed the impact and he rolled on the dirty floor before scrabbling to his feet. The mage was before him, the rest above and in a sense of confusion.

"Dirty manling!" the hobbe cursed "You die now!"

D'Wolf was surprised at the language the hobbe was using but it did not faze him. He stood and looked to the rock ceiling above. An idea struck him, just at the same time as a bolt of energy threatened to blast him in two. He ducked just in time to see the green lightning smash into the rock face behind him and leave a scorch mark on its surface. He looked up and pointed a hand to the sky, a burst of flame shooting up towards the rock. The ceiling shook and rocks fell from it. They crashed into the floor, the mage ducking out of the way as they crashed into the fire and sent embers across the small camp site. Blue sky and light filled the cavern and the hobbes shied away, diving for the shadows. D'Wolf stood and channelled the energy with in, summoning a ball of crackling power between his hands and held it close to his chest. He could feel the magic trying to get loose, flash around him and become chaotic but he kept it channelled, focusing his mind even as the hobbe mage wailed and tried to strike him from afar with bolts of energy. The other hobbes charged forwards too, perfect, D'Wolf thought. They were soon all within the range of his spell, and with a whisper of a word the ball changed into mist and gliding up to the sky. D'Wolf smiled.

The sky filled with clouds almost instantly and jets of lightning flashed down through the hole. Each of the hobbes was engulfed by a column of pure crackling energy and they burned within it, their skin burning away and leaving charred skeletons behind. Only the mage tried to stop the column of light, but it was too no avail. The crackling beam broke through his weak shields and frazzled him just the same. The acrid smell of burnt flesh and the sound of popping was the only sound as the skies cleared once more and sunlight bathed the ruined campsite. D'Wolf flexed his wrists and looked around for the vault; he spotted it to the side, the sunlight now showing its crude design all the more. He walked over and tested it with a gentle push of his hand. The door was steady. He looked around for a lock of some kind, a mechanism to open it but it seemed that the vault had nothing that could be used to break into it. Closing his mind off from all distraction D'Wolf searched the ether for magical defences, but again there were none. One thing for it, he thought.

D'Wolf stood back, taking cover behind a large pile of crates and chests and thought about how he could open the door. The first thing that came to mind was to blast it with fire until it melted, but he was low on reserves of power as it was. The second was to do it manually, try and find a way to pry it open, but he was not strong enough for that. Then a thought came to him, genius, he thought. He stood and looked for what he needed, a suitable corpse. Piling the bones together beside the fire he gathered a clod of dirt and the jewel from the mages stave and with all together stood back, pointing one finger at the pile. It shuddered, the bones moving around and the jewel falling into the middle of it all. Then, the spectral mists curled up from around it and wove themselves into shapes, forming arms, legs, a torso and eventually a thick set and red jewelled head. The troll lumbered in front of him, a mass of ethereal roots and earth.

"The door" D'Wolf said, pointing to the mass of crudely shaped metal.

The troll growled and a mass of vapour poured from its mouth as it turned and plodded towards the door, the roots of its legs still mimicking life even in this deathly shade. It reached forwards with root hands and what you could call fingers wrapped around the edges of the door. The troll growled and the metal creaked in turn, D'Wolf moving out of the way in case the troll threw it behind him, but the beast was better than he had given credit. The troll roared and jerked the metal, yanking it off of its hinges and pulling it from the socket in the wall. With a bang of metal on stone it moved the door to the side and propped it against the cavern wall. With a nod the troll turned and vanished just as quickly as it had come.

D'Wolf strode forwards as a blast of acrid stench filled his nostrils. He gagged and felt his eye water. Pulling his cloak up over his mouth to shield him from the smell he moved under the metal surrounded doorway and into the darkness of the other side. Here looked just the same bar a small chest that lay propped against the back wall. The tales of Orkon were greatly exaggerated it seemed. He found the source of the stench, a skeletal corpse of a dead hobbe with its spindly hands over the lock on the chest. Prying it away he looked down at the lock, puzzled for a moment and then with the lightest of touches blew the lock from the chest. It dropped to the floor, the metal fizzing and melting and he kicked the chest open with a sturdy boot. The lid fell back and revealed a gnarled club and a bunch of scrunched up paper. Taking the cloak from around his mouth he knelt down and picked up the little club. The wooden instrument was broken and battered and had a distinct lack of use about it. At one end was a cruel nail driven through the hard wood and it was possible to tell its purpose from the dark stain of black blood which caked one end. He tossed it aside; despite its significance to the hobbes it had no magical properties and would never sell for anything on the open market.

D'Wolf then spied the little scrunched up paper with interest. Reaching for it he felt a surge of energy and power crackle down his finger tips and work its way up his arm. His one magical eye flashed and he knew immediate that this was an object of great significance. He pulled it from the box and gently, looking around him to see if anyone was watching, although later he thought that was foolish considering his previous actions, he peeled away the layers of brown paper. What he saw almost made him drop the package. As the brown paper fell away it revealed a seal, but no ordinary seal. The symbol of the heroes' guild gleamed back at him, the thick set gold twist set within a jade jewel. The larger seal was heavy and worked well, fine details and runs inscribed on every inch of its surface. Whoever had made this, whoever had owned this had been a hero of great worth. D'Wolf took it from the paper and walked back out into the sunlight beaming down into the cavern. He held it too the light and the reflection of the precious metals glinted off the walls. It truly was a sight to behold and no mistake.

A rumble in the distance and a combined set of wails and screeches broke him from his reverie over the seal. He quickly stuffed it into his cloak and looked up to the high ceiling. He did not have much time; the sound of pattering feet on the rock told him they were close. D'Wolf charged a spell and he could see the world start to slow down around him. The flames on the torches were as if underwater, the glittering golden leaves falling from above floated down like feathers. He ran, pelting up the spiral track, leaping over the charred bodies of the fallen and the crashed rocks. He looked ahead as the hobbes moved towards him in slow motion and he whipped past them like a ghost. The spell broke as he ran away as fast as he could; he withdrew the map from his pocket and checked it, the arrow this time seemed to be showing him the way.

***

A few hours later he found himself in the tavern of Oakfield. A pair of guards were jostling each other at the bar over the affections of the barmaid, who, contrary to both their beliefs had no interest in them what-so-ever. He had taken the smallest and most secluded table in the tavern, upstairs and in the darkest corner. The barmaid detached herself from the jostling guards and made her way over, looking down at his lackluster appearance.

"A beer sir?" she said, holding a large tankard of ale.

"Not for me thank you" D'Wolf said, hiding the seal under his hands.

The barmaid shrugged and walked away, moving onto the next table and a trader who eyed her up and grabbed her buttocks with a toothless grin. D'Wolf ignored it, looking back to the seal and pulling a thick brown leather book from the confines of his saddle bag by his side. The volume was old, tattered and bruised from its use and as he opened it a cloud of dust rose into the air. He coughed, trying to mask it and keep the attention from himself as he flicked through the crumbling pages. He found the page he was looking for. He stopped his leafing and set the seal down on the paper to weigh it down and began to read.

"_The seal of the Heroes Guild is one of a kind. No single seal is like another and the name of the hero can always be gleaned from its surface runes"_

D'Wolf paused with his finger and looked at the seal, searching it for a capital rune. He found one but he had no knowledge of the writing in order to tell what it said. He read on.

"_It is believed that when a hero dies his seal goes with him, the protective casing cracking and expelling a burst of will energy in order to destroy the body and stop looters. However this practise is of the Old Faith and now it is believed that the seal serves as a grave ward for the dead hero. This can be seen in the…"_

The text read on, talking of a hero who had been sealed within his tomb by the object he had worn in life. It seemed more than ever that this must have been for some great hero, and Orkon had either stolen it from the grave itself or from another bearer of it. D'Wolf only wished he could read the name upon the seal.

"_The last seal known to be in existence was of the Jack Slayer. 500 years ago to the publishing of this book he stood before Jack of Blades in the frozen wastes and destroyed one of the last dragons of Albion. Little is known of him after this date. His final resting place is unknown and Avo's Tear, the sword that was wielded by the the Jack Slayer has never been found"_

D'Wolf didn't think for one moment that this was actually the seal of the Jack Slayer. He turned it over, it could not be, or could it? He searched through his mind, trying to remember spells and incantations he could bring to use, to decipher the runes and find its secret, but he could not think straight. The sounds of the tavern, the roar of the patrons and the eyes of the barmaid on him were too distracting. He shoved the seal back into his coat and stood, setting a few coins on the table for the hospitality and the drink. He needed a place to think.


End file.
